Devil Down Under
If there’s one thing that’s likely to send visitors into a spiraling shitfit of insanity it’s the water. Or the labyrinth. Two hours into the twisting maze that lies just under the Capitol’s surface and Brier has all but abandoned the drip-spattered map that brought her here.
Despite keen dark vision there’s only so much detail that can be found in broken tunnels and algae covered walls. In one dead end after another. The city weeps and it’s here that its tears collect.
In the end it’s the hum of distant music that brings her to her destination, beat thumping bright red in time with a rapidly growing migraine. Brier adjusts her wrist sheaths as the gradient of tunnels moves from ‘abandoned shaft’ to ‘slightly inhabitable’. She enters a swarm of people like Moses parting the sea.
And finds herself at a makeshift throne. A skeleton crew of hired guardsmen seep quietly into darkened corners. Brier turns her head up. Dark eyes rake the troll on the throne like talons.
“Delivery for Kurloz,”
